


Satisfied

by a_mind_at_work (Madame_Marauder)



Series: drips and drabbles [5]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Almost a Satisfied songfic, Drabble, John-centric, M/M, Wow look I'm not spamming the tags its a miracle, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 15:41:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11234061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_Marauder/pseuds/a_mind_at_work
Summary: “You strike me as someone who has never been satisfied,” drawled the man seated on the next bar stool over.John could never be satisfied with this achingly slow and boring life of his. Or so he thinks.





	Satisfied

      “You strike me as someone who has never been satisfied,” drawled the man seated on the next bar stool over. John glanced over, drawn out from his own melancholy. The stranger couldn’t have been any older than he was, despite what the deep bags under his eyes might have suggested. His ratty emerald sweatshirt bore Columbia's logo, worn letters proudly proclaiming the school's prestigious history.

       And his eyes- the man had eyes the color of the sea, violet-blue pools that John could just drown in, if he let himself. “I'm not sure what you mean; explain yourself.”

      Technically, it was true. Was this mysterious stranger somehow able to sense John’s dissatisfaction with the lifestyle his father had forced on him? Or was the shame of being over halfway through his doctorate and single showing? Perhaps it was the longing in his eyes that the other glimpsed as the subpar TV in the corner showed the news coverage of the latest protests.

      “You're like me,” the man said, glancing at his inkstained hands. “I'm never satisfied.”

       So it was frustration with himself and his inability to affect change until he was out of school, then. That general feeling of helplessness and that he would never be good enough, never prove himself.

       “Is that right?” John asked, resting an elbow on the counter.

       The man shrugged, idly playing with the long, dark hair that spilled over his shoulders. “I've never been satisfied.”

        Introductions, then: his sister always complained that he needed friends. “I'm John Laurens.”

       “Alexander Hamilton,” replied the man.

       So this was the Hurricane of King's College, then. Avid writer and activist, triple major in poli sci, law, and econ. Legend among his peers.

       “I hear you've created quite a stir.” And that rant from one trapped Southern gay to another was indeed quite a stir- John hadn't seen James so thoroughly upset since he'd figured out that he was indeed gay (and had the hots for Jefferson), and had a breakdown on John’s apartment floor.

       Alexander scowled, pulling his leg up to rest it on his knee. “Unimportant, unimpressive. There's a million things I haven't done-  but just you wait, just you wait!”

       Ambition by the metric asston, and the brains to back it up. Strong views for what was right, not whatever bullshit his father spouted. Exactly what John wished he was brave enough to show.

       So this was what it was like to match views with someone on his level- what the hell was the catch? This feeling of freedom, of seeing the light was too good to be true. But their connection was undeniable, it just seemed _right_.

       And god help him, John was helpless.

       It wasn't his fault that this extraordinarily attractive man had chosen to ~~flirt~~ talk with him. It wasn't his fault that their personal political beliefs aligned perfectly. It wasn't his fault that they fell to talking long into the night. It especially wasn't his fault when they ended up leaning on each other and laughing over Aaron Burr’s $400 coconut in a bar at quarter to one in the morning.

        “Laurens,” Alexander said with a crooked grin, “I like you a lot.” 


End file.
